Tell A Tale in 500 Words

Stolen tales By Tina Anetor

Stolen tales 1

The streets of Central London greets me with the smell of overpriced coffee as I struggle to get out of the underground suddenly feeling like a worm trying to tunnel its way out of the earth. The eccentric vibe of the city blinds the wealthy yet ignorant tourist as they stare marvelled the sheer awesomeness of the city; the streets musicians play their tunes and like a magnet the copper coins are dropped into guitar cased banks.



I surveying my surroundings and a man about 5"4 stops in front of a red telephone box to take a picture and as he reaches into his pocket he flashes his Swiss watch. I smile, "what an idiot" I say in my head. I walk up to the man.



"Excuse me sir, do you happen to know the time?" I ask my unsuspecting victim. He looks at his watch and smiles and in that moment I almost feel sorry for the old fool but not enough for me to stop.

"Almost 12 in the afternoon young lady" he says and as he squints he smiles some more, he must be American; the heavy smell cologne and his paper white teeth gave it away.



As I reach out to shake his hand to 'thank him' for his help my thumb quickly and skilfully undoes the clasp of his watch while my first finger and my pinkie finger glides the watch off so that when the ten second handshake is over the watch is safely in my pocket (I wouldn't want anyone stealing it now, would I?).



I smirk and walk away as I allow my thoughts to wonder and imagine the expression on the American's face when he realises his watch is gone, I smile some more and look out for my next victim.



Stolen tales (2)

I run as fast as my legs can carry me my feet pounding one by one against the pavement and as I weave my way through the crowded streets of London. I can vaguely hear the shouting following closely behind me. The shop owner in his late forties was faster than I initially thought. As I mentally congratulated the man I sped through the streets, I was a cheetah and London was my concrete Savannah.



As I ran I bumped into this girl who had a mischievous smile plastered on her face, she had the strangest face even as i looked at her for that split second i did not know what she looked like. Ungrateful for the unwelcomed distraction I picked my self up and ran down the stairs leading to a train station.



I slowed down my pace not wanting to attract any attention to myself, I take off my blood red hoodie and hand it to the heavy eyed homeless man on the floor making sure that what I permanently borrowed from my chaser is in the front pocket of my jeans trousers. It is.

I swiftly, moving like I belonged, take a quick look around and jump over the barriers before I am caught and head east bound to God-knows-where. I slot myself through the closing doors of the train door like a bank card into an ATM.

I am sitting down and opposite me is my reflection on the window and I laugh.



Stolen tales (3)

The circle line glides to a gentle halt and a young man strides in, he takes a seat opposite me therefore revealing his face, eyes as old as time itself make you question his age. He stares at the blackened mirror behind me and laughs.

This happens more often than you think on public transport.

I ignore the laughing stranger and focus on the task at hand. I have a plan. My plans never fail.

The carriage door slides open yet again allowing me out, I head to the barriers and insert my stolen ticket half expecting it to spit it back out. It doesn't, once I'm through I make my way to the men's toilets.

Inside my bag is a uniform and as I take items out one at a time I am greeted with a feeling of nostalgia or familiarity (I am unsure of which one). I'm like a ginger male Mary Poppins with my trusty backpack I am unstoppable.



I walk out of the cubicle a new man so to speak. I am in a uniform of my imaginary company which helps the good people of London with their anti-theft and anti-virus software. I thought up this idea a while back when I found out that people were far too trusting especially when they were clueless.



I watch the water colour painting disguised as a sunset as I walk through the streets gazing at each door number and finally finding the right one.



I take a deep breath and prepare myself for another Oscar worthy performance. I knock once then I knock again, I once read you cannot knock just once if you aren't an important person and you can't knock three times or you seem too eager and therefore unprofessional.



A woman about 6"2 smiles back at me showing off her years of lack of dental hygiene. I make eye contact and smile, a sickly smile as fake as her dyed blonde hair and with a firm hand shake I'm in.



She tells me the problem as if I'm a doctor I pretend to listen and care as I get ready to give my readymade opinion, jargon that I have spouted more than I care to count.



She leads me to her laptop and I laugh in my head, it's like a fish leading the hook to its family. I input my USB and download everything, most of the time I'm lucky I gain bank details or something useful and other times I'm unlucky.



I remove my USB after inserting a virus of my very own making. I down the cup of tea I had been offered earlier and she thanks me for helping her. Again I smile and repeat;



"It's no problem madam, have a nice day" and in my head I say to myself "or perhaps not"



My smile as I turn and walk back up the street is genuine as I think of the phrase 'daylight robbery'.

 


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